


The Tiniest Spark

by fourletterepithet



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Implied Crush, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, before skyhold, lots of snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16221542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourletterepithet/pseuds/fourletterepithet
Summary: In which Velthei Lavellan yells a little, gets yelled at a little, and loses a race.





	The Tiniest Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Some edits were made. Initial chat with Varric was expanded, tightened some dialogue, expanded the last scene a little bit so it jumped around less. Fewer clunky bits.

Velthei breathed a thank you to whoever was listening that the ride back from Redcliffe was uneventful. She handed the reins of her hart off to a waiting stable hand with a frown, and she caught Varric's slow stride as he strolled up to stop beside her. “So,” he said lightly, “are you pleased that your little venture to Redcliffe turned out the way it did?”

She snorted, staring at the hole in the sky. "Pleased isn't the right term for it," she replied. "Relieved? Elated? Excited to hysteria about getting away from—what was it you called it when Dorian and I stumbled into camp and we told you what happened? 'Crazy Time Place'?"

Varric chuckled, rocking back on his heels in that easy way of his. "You two were in an awful rush to pack up and get out. I've never seen a camp breakdown go so quick before. I thought something had gone wrong with the mages. Well," he added, "wrong _-er_."

Velthei turned to him with an offended huff. "The rebel mages weren't the problem. I could live without ever knowing the people I left behind were going to die, much less being flung through time." She raked a hand through her forelocks, frowning, and the wind decided at that moment to kick up a great tongue of snow from a nearby drift that crested over their heads like a glittering white wave. Varric managed to turn away in time, but Velthei wasn't so lucky, and she spent a few moments coughing from the powder-dry snow she'd inhaled. Varric reached up to pat her on the back.

"Do you think recruiting the mages was the best idea?" he asked mildly. She scowled at him, and he held his hands up. "I ask because they _did_ choose to become conscripts of Tevinter."

The sun broke through the ragged clouds just then, and Velthei sighed, the fight going out of her. She pulled her ponytail out, ran her fingernails over her scalp, then began to pull her hair into its usual style again. “They were being hunted by templars that were no longer following orders, and they made a stupid, uninformed decision. _And_ ," she said, her voice warming into the cadences of a rant, "Mages aren’t a monolithic structure! We’re not as black and white as the Chantry makes us out to be. You cannot accuse an entire group of people of being unable to watch themselves when they're not allowed to do so to begin with!"

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to convince me or convince yourself,” he said with a chuckle. At her stricken look, Varric shifted from one foot to the other, one hand thumbing the gold chain hanging around his neck. His gaze wandered uneasily to the Chantry, looming in the background. “Who knows, kid. Maybe you _can_ convince them. I wouldn’t put coin on it, though.”

"We  _have_  to be given a chance," she sighed, folding one arm down across her midsection and resting her chin in the other hand. "And if I am to have the power to  _create_  that chance, I'll use it."

Varric reached up again to pat her shoulder, a faint smile playing at his lips, and she could feel his eyes on her as she trudged up the path to the church.

Cullen’s agitated baritone rumbled through the heavy oaken door as her hand wrapped around the iron handle. His voice was raised. She contemplated feigning a cold, and sighed, pressing her forehead against the weathered planks before she shoved the doors open. Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana stood in a sloppy ring as they debated — or, more accurately, as they listened to Cullen’s clipped, terse monologue. Light blared across the figures as Velthei crossed the threshold and approached them.

“It’s not a matter for debate,” said Cullen as Velthei inserted herself into the circle across from him. “There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared.”

Josephine frowned at him. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition look incompetent at best,” she said, “tyrannical at worst.”

“What were you _thinking_ ,” hissed Cullen, turning on Velthei, “turning mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!”

Velthei stared at Cullen, expression inscrutable. “We are not monsters,” she said, voice even but cold. “We can control ourselves without outside help.”

“This isn’t _about_ self-control,” Cullen retorted. “Even the strongest mages can be overcome by conditions like these.”

“Demons,” she said, “have a way through the Veil that doesn’t involve bargaining with, manipulating, or fighting sentient beings that only become accessible to them **when they sleep**. They have no need to possess anyone.”

Cullen scowled. “You cannot guarantee that they won’t try anyway.”

“And you cannot guarantee that they _will!_ ” barked Velthei, flinging her hands up in exasperation. “Have you ever seen a demon roaming freely that tried to do anything other than rend and tear and kill? _I_ certainly haven’t, and I’ve been hunting them and closing rifts for weeks now. Commander, this is irrational.”

He shook his head, something hollow and distant and raw flickering behind eyes that she manages to catch, but his fury bears down on her and drums whatever it was out from his gaze. “Herald —”

“ _Stop calling me that._ ”

“— _you_ may be a strong mage, but mark my words, your bias will get us all killed.”

Velthei rocked on her heels, head tilted back as she stared at and then through Cullen. “Lest we all forget again, I was conscripted into the Inquisition under threat of death,” she said quietly. “I would _not_ do the same to a misunderstood people doing little more than seeking refuge and safety. The only crime they—"

“Enough arguing!” snapped Cassandra, and the icy crack of her voice causes both Velthei and Cullen to flinch like buckets of water were upended over their heads. “None of us were there. We cannot afford to second-guess our people. The _sole_ point of the Hera— Lavellan’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks!” said Dorian, voice dripping with sarcasm as he leaned against the doorjamb of the side room he emerged from. Four pairs of eyes pivoted towards him, and Velthei barely stopped herself from sagging with relief. “And here I was, just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cassandra turned to him, her lips tugging down in a scowl more ferocious than usual. “Closing the breach is all that matters,” she bit out, dropping him from her attention again as she turned away.

Velthei tapped a finger to her pursed lips. “Closing the Breach will require a lot of magic… and that means lyrium.” She glanced at the councilors, eyes wary. “I have contacts who can help.”

Leliana tilted her head. “Contacts meaning… smugglers?” Velthei nodded, and Leliana looked to Josephine with a jerk of her hand. “Send them word. We’ll need every advantage.”

“We have legitimate supply lines already,” said Cullen.

The Orlesian bard’s frown was severe. “And they don’t need to hear of this.”

Josephine held one hand up to quell them both, and she looked to Velthei. “Keep it under the table, and I’ll do what I can to quiet rumors.”

Cullen shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, his hands settling on the pommel of his sword. The brief silence was broken by Leliana. “We should look into the things you saw in this dark future,” she murmured, thoughtful. "The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises! Chaos for everyone,” said Dorian with a cheerful waggle of his eyebrows.

“One battle at a time,” said Cullen. “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.” He turned to Velthei, then, and a lopsided smile began playing at the corners of his mouth. “Join us,” he said, and he was so earnest that it made her jerk back and blink in confusion. “None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

“Th- thank you,” she stammered, brow wrinkling. “I’d be honored to help with the plan.”

“Meet us there when you’re ready,” said Josephine, smiling in approval.

The wry curve of Dorian’s lips faded away. “I’ll skip the war council, but I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

Velthei brightened visibly. “Then you’re—staying?”

Dorian examined his fingernails before flicking his eyes back up to meet hers. “Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic, I adore it to little pieces!”

Velthei snorted a laugh, folding her arms across her chest and ducking her head to hide her smirk. “I must admit, Dorian, I’m a little surprised.”

“We both saw what could happen,” he replied, voice somber. “What this—Elder One and his cult are trying to do. Not everything from Tevinter is terrible. Some of us have fought for aeons against this sort of madness. It’s my duty to stand with you.” His expression hardened. “That future will _not_ come to pass.”

She beamed so hard her face ached from it. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

“Excellent choice,” said Dorian as he inclined his head. “But let’s not get ‘stranded’ again anytime soon, yes?”

Cullen, satisfied, gave a firm nod and straightened as Velthei chuckled. “I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

—

The sky had just begun to lighten to a soft pink over the bony thrust of the mountains flanking the town when the entry gates of Haven opened to permit Velthei through, hinges creaking in protest. She covered her mouth to stifle a yawn as she trotted for the stables, not bothering to cloak herself in the Fade to speed her along to her destination.

Upon her approach, Velthei’s great chestnut hart lifted his head from its spot in the bedding to peer at her before snorting a cloud of steam into the frigid air. Velthei hopped the fence with a grin, snatching the pitchfork from the rack on her way down. “Have I been neglecting you, Revas?” she cooed, kneeling beside the huffing beast and giving his nose a scratch before lashing him up. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you some exercise this morning.”

The crunch of gravel under a heavy boot caught her attention before Dennet spoke. “Does he talk back?”

“Only to tell me off,” said Velthei with a snort, rising and smiling over her shoulder at the weather-worn master of horse.

The crinkles at the corners of Dennet’s eyes deepened. “Sounds about right for the species.” He jerked his chin at the pitchfork in her hand. “Now, what’s the Herald of Andraste doing with _that_ on this fine morning?”

Velthei tossed the handle back and forth between her hands, the tines pivoting in the bedding as she pursed her lips. “Something normal,” she finally replied, lifting her shoulders in a shrug as she turned to face him.

Dennet nodded once, clasping his hands behind his back, and turned to stride off without another word, his eyes still crinkled with what Velthei thought might be amusement. The man was impossible to read.

Shrugging again, she decided to stop worrying about it, and leaned the pitchfork against the fencepost before setting about tying Revas up so she could muck the stall out. As she tested the slipknot and reached for the pitchfork, her gaze passed over to the command tents down the old track to sight Cullen turned towards her. When their eyes met, he turned away abruptly, and Velthei snarled something under her breath before getting to work.

As she tossed the last of the ruined bedding into the wheelbarrow waiting on the other side of the fence, she saw the approaching silhouette of Cullen as he made his way towards the paddock. She ignored him as she hung the pitchfork on the rack and snatched the broom beside it—perhaps more aggressively than was necessary—and began to sweep the stall floor.

“Herald?” said Cullen.

Velthei rolled her shoulders and gave the dirt an angry sweep. Why was this _bothering_ her? She turned her head far enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. “Commander,” she replied, keeping her voice neutral. “How can I help you?”

Cullen’s mouth flattened into a faint frown at her tone, and he seems to lose his nerve for a moment, the hand resting on the pommel of his sword clenching as the other rose to rub the back of his neck. “I was—wondering if you perhaps had time to accompany me on a ride.”

Velthei blinked and turned towards him fully, raising her eyebrows. “I—would,” she said, then blinked again with surprise, as though the words had fallen out of her mouth of their own accord. She pivoted away, then towards him, then away again before she scratched at her cheek. “Just—let me finish this.”

Back ramrod straight, hand still on his neck, Cullen nodded once and turned to walk towards the stable where his own horse was kept.

She waited atop Revas as she watched Cullen ride up on his mount. They cut quite the figure together, warm browns and reds picked out with gold threading laid over gleaming armor, perched atop a beautiful gray-and-black charger brushed to a fine sheen. His horse was restive, not seeing as much action as it might like, and it bucked its head, nickering softly as it approached in a clipped stride.

He was not much better, trying his best to avoid looking at her for more than a second or two at a time. Revas flicked an ear towards them and lowered his head to mouth at the dead grass on the side of the track, and that, it seemed, was that. Velthei snorted in amusement.

Cullen pointed east, past the command tents where the path wound into the woods. Velthei lifted the reins, leaning slightly in her seat, and Revas gave a shake of his great head before he turned to walk towards the rising sun.

The silence stretched painfully between them as they rode, side by side, taut as a bowstring cut too short, neither willing to speak first. She lifted her head to squint into the pale wash of high, smeary clouds as lazy little flakes started to drift down around them.

This isn’t where she expected to be.

This isn’t the life she expected to have.

Instead of taking the mantle and robes of Clan Keeper in a few months’ time, she’s now the figurehead of a religion held dear by a race of people who drove hers to the brink of extinction as she hunts for a way to close the hole in the sky, riding on the back of an oversized reindeer next to a man who can’t decide if he wants to stammer, sigh, or yell when he sees her. Given her penchant for asking him inappropriate questions, she supposed she couldn't blame him.

Much.

Still, though, it rankled.

They had passed the command tents, and she tried to ignore the curious stares coming from the recruits as they left them behind. The back of her neck prickled under the weight of their regard, and all at once, the silence became too much to bear. “If I didn’t know any better, Commander, I’d say you didn’t like me,” she said, leveling a smirk with him that wasn’t entirely arch.

Cullen stiffened, his hands tightening on the reins. “I apologize, Herald. I didn’t — I don’t —”

Velthei let her breath out in a sigh. She’d unsettled him. “I’m sorry. That was a joke.”

“Ah.” She caught him flicking a glance at her before he looked away again. “I — wanted to apologize. For yesterday.”

The silence that settled over them was punctured only by the assorted snorts and nickers of their mounts as she turned his words over and over in her head. “What for?” she said at length.

Cullen looked at her fully for the first time since departing the stables, brows creasing in obvious confusion. “What?”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“For shouting?” he said incredulously.

She snorted. “Ah.” He looked stricken, and she carded her fingers through her bangs. “So not for the content of your words.”

“That isn’t —” started Cullen, voice sharp, then he subsided with a sigh as whatever spark that she had ignited guttered out, sweeping his gaze over the frozen track before them. “The points you brought up gave me pause,” he admitted at length, reaching a hand up to scratch at his hair in an unconscious mirror, “but I require more time to think on it.”

Velthei cocked her head at him, brow furrowing before she too turned to stare off down the path and into the forest beyond. Her eyes drifted shut, listening to the breathing of their mounts, the rattle and creak of the tack and Cullen's armor. She kept her body braced against the chill through magic, but the air still stripped her lungs, and she concentrated on the sensation, grounding her nerves before she spoke again. 

“Your reaction..." she said, keeping her voice soft, "did it have to do with your hesitation to discuss your experiences in Fereldan’s Circle? — I won’t pry,” she added as he his head whipped up to stare at her, eyes sparking again with something that she finally identified as pain. She almost reached out for him, but shook her head instead, smoothing the furrow of her brows. “I ask for confirmation, nothing more.”

Cullen drew a breath through his nose, held it, and let it billow out of his mouth in a cloud of icy mist, gaze distant and guarded. “Yes,” he said at length.

Fine powdery flakes began to drift down from the thin cloud cover again, and Velthei absentmindedly began to scratch the shaggy ruff running down the back of Revas’ neck as the snow began to land on his fur. Grunting with approval, the hart bucked his head and gave a good shake to resettle the grain. “There _was_ an element of bias involved in my choice,” Velthei admitted, her face pinching.

“You don’t have to justi—”

Velthei held a hand up, but Cullen’s growl of disgust brought her up short. “Will someone please let me _finish talking?_ ” he bit out. Her eyes widened, and her mouth worked before shutting with an audible click. Cullen’s sigh was ragged, pained, and he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I — my apologies. Getting interrupted all the time grates on the nerves.”

Velthei felt a flush of shame wash across her cheeks, and she inclined her head. “I will do my best not to talk over you in the future. Please continue.”

He regarded her silently for a moment, then took a deep breath as he gave a short nod. “You don’t have to justify or defend yourself to me. That’s all.”

She looked up at him through her lashes and waited for his nod of consent before she began to speak again. “Trust me,” she said, wrenching her gaze to the road, “I am _clarifying._ To see you shaken so at the thought of mages being left unattended —” She grappled for words, frowning, and she met his startled look with her concerned one. “Whatever happened when Kinloch fell instilled a fear of us in you. Regardless of my opinions regarding mage oppression — regarding our rights — your _feelings_ are valid.”

Her mouth flattened into a frown, and she broke eye contact. “You have a right to disagree with and question my decision... and I wanted you to know that you have me in your corner, in my own way.” She started scratching Revas’ mane again, the act centering her, shielding her from a sudden burst of anxiety. “You’re a good man, and I fear I’ve met too few of those in my travels.”

Cullen’s buckles rattled as he turned to face the road. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his head dip, expression oddly blank, and his hands clenched around the reins again. “You were in no danger of losing me,” he murmured, voice soft as velvet, answering a question she didn’t realize she’d asked, and her heart fluttered like a butterfly’s wing. Her eyes widened in horror at her body's unbidden reaction until she schooled herself to something more neutral. Normal. What did normal look like?

Shit.

Oh no, he’d started talking again. “— the Breach, and find who destroyed the Conclave. I will adjust to the mages.”

At a loss for words, and feeling the prickle of another blush sweep across her cheeks, she swallowed hard, and bowed her head in acknowledgment. “We will find something that works,” said Velthei at last, then, after a few moments, bobbed her head. “After we close the Breach,” she added, lips pressing into a hard frown.

Cullen regarded her with open curiosity. “You have misgivings?”

“While I may have my opinions on the Templars,” she said wryly, clenching her hand as she grimaced at it, “I am not without concern over pouring large amounts of random magical power into a mark nobody understands that just so happens to occupy _my hand._

"Based on the precedent set by the rifts I’ve closed," she continued, "I have to believe that this is going to work. We have nothing else to go on, and the future I saw —” Her voice broke, blinking rapidly as tears suddenly pooled in her eyes. “I must do whatever it takes to stop that future from happening. I _can’t_ let it happen.” She swallowed hard. “But the thought that keeps plaguing me is ‘what if I fail?’”

Cullen fell silent, letting the crunch of their mounts’ hooves fill the air for a time. She didn’t notice he’d directed his horse to close the gap between them until he reached across to touch her shoulder. Startled, she looked at him.

“I have little comfort to give,” he said, “but to say that I don’t think you will. When I said that you were strong, I was not solely referring to your _power_.” The earnestness written on his face was enough to embarrass her. “Please believe me when I say that you have proven yourself to be… unique, Herald.”

The disgusted noise she made broke the gravity of the moment. She veered gratefully away from letting his words — and the layers of meaning they might hold — sink in, and she rolled her eyes at him, flattening her lips with wry disapproval as he retracted his arm. “If you would strike that title from everyone’s lips for me, I would be forever in your debt.”

“I am curious,” he said, and at the puzzled tilt of her head, continued: “Why do you hate it so? Is it because of your own religious convictions?”

“No! No,” said Velthei, shaking her head. “It’s because I did nothing to earn it. How am I the Herald because I fell out of a _rift?_ I can’t remember anything about what happened. I’ve just become this …” She gesticulated broadly in the air, searching for words. “ _Figurehead,_ ” she finally spat. “If I won some battle or another, I would at least be able to reconcile becoming what I’ve become to these people, despite being a Dalish knife-ear.”

His eyebrows shot up, then drew down again in a ferocious vee. Velthei jerked back in surprise quickly enough that Revas misinterpreted the maneuver and stopped in his tracks. “Sorry,” she said to the hart, adjusting her position on the saddle and lifting the reins so that he started walking again. “Forgot.”

“If anyone has called you racial slurs,” growled Cullen, and Velthei shook her head, eyes widening.

“No,” she said, “no-one has ever said anything disparaging about my race that I know of.” Her lips twisted, her thoughts trailing to the jittery elven servant who she met upon waking the first day after acquiring her new “title.” “I’m sure it’s happening, though.”

“Let me know when and who, should you become aware of such an event,” replied Cullen, “and I will see to it that the matter ends there and then.”

A cautious smile worked its way across her face. “Thank you, Commander.”

He inclined his head. “Herald.”

“ _Ugh._ ” She wheeled Revas around, bending over his withers, and he brayed into the mountain air before he took off at a gallop, kicking up gravel in his wake. Cullen’s startled “hey!” trailed behind her, and he nudged his eager horse into a thundering run.

They raced back to the stables, Velthei bursting into laughter as they flashed out of the woods and past the command tents, one after the other. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Cullen's boyish grin as his horse nosed up to Revas’ flank, and rather than laugh at him for thinking his horse could outrun her beast, she straightened in surprise at how a change of expression could so transform him. Her beautifully trained beast slowed down in response to her unintentional guidance, and Cullen shot past her with a crack of laughter.

His air of perennial, grouchy weariness was gone, the line between his heavy brows erased, the wash of purple under his golden-brown eyes lightening as the flush of amusement and exertion spread across his cheeks.  _ **He** has_ _laugh lines?_  she thought to herself, a little dazed. Then, as she realized her heart had begun to race, _**Oh** no._

She pressed her hart forward, but he couldn't quite overtake Cullen's horse by the time they came to a cacophonous halt at the stables a few seconds later. Revas snorted indifferently as Velthei dismounted and lead him to his stall, and Cullen’s horse’s ears flattened in palpable irritation as he realized that his fun was over. "So," said Cullen as he ambled over to the stall, lacing his fingers together as he leaned his elbows against the fence, "I'd venture to guess that you didn't lose on purpose."

As she reached to dismantle Revas' tack, she rolled her eyes heavenward and groaned. "New to riding," muttered Velthei, unbuckling his saddle and hanging it up. "It was decided it would be wisest to purchase a good mount and hand me books to read on how to use him or her, rather than spend money in riding lessons first and be unable to afford a mount that wasn't old, sick, or insane. My clan never had a lot of money."

The reins were last, and the hart gave his head a good shake before nudging the broad pad of his nose into Velthei's ribs. She scratched him behind his ears, letting her hand slide down the planes of his nose as she stepped away, then turned for the gate, shooting Cullen a significant look as he unlocked the latch and held the gate open for her. "I'll need to schedule a few classes with Dennet," she murmured as she passed him, "as I clearly need a little training."

Cullen watched her silently, the faintest ghost of a smile touching his lips. It felt as fragile and delicate as the snowflakes winding around them, and as he let the gate swing shut, she thought that at least he seemed more relaxed around her for now. "You have learned to adapt to riding quickly, then. A stark contrast to how you've taken to your title, which I fear you’ll be stuck with for a while yet,” he teased, putting his hands on his hips as she stopped to face him. Feeling the telltale burn of another blush flare across her cheeks, Velthei stuck her lower lip out at him in a pout and folded her arms. Cullen’s mouth contorted, and he broke off first, scrubbing his hand across his face to hide his grin. Velthei tossed her head with a triumphant “ _Ha!_ ”, and strode for the gates with her nose in the air.

“That wasn’t terribly mature, _Herald,_ ” called Cullen, and Velthei spun on her heel to walk backwards in time to catch him pointing an accusing finger at her as he strolled to the command tents, betrayed only by the smirk on his lips.

“What can I say, Commander,” said Velthei, spreading her hands. “You bring out only my best qualities.”

“Andraste preserve me,” said Cullen with feeling, and Velthei was still laughing to herself as she passed the threshold into Haven proper.


End file.
